


Out the box, out of line

by Exemplery_Prime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: BDSM, Cute Ending, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Fluff and Smut, Kinky, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, at least I think so, if that's a tag idk, it is on Tumblr, ultra Magnus is a complete dork to write and I love him, valveplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exemplery_Prime/pseuds/Exemplery_Prime
Summary: “You get ten strikes,” Ultra Magnus said, tapping the cane against the back of Wheeljack’s thighs for emphasis.  “You will count each and thank me.”“Pit, no!”“You will say, ‘thank you, sir’.”Wheeljack stiffened, real surprise bleeding out of his field.  “Oh, so that’s how you wanna play it,” he said, and Ultra Magnus got the sense that he was being entirely sincere.





	Out the box, out of line

**Author's Note:**

> I've been so excited to publish this, for real you guys  
> Also, pretend that Ultra Magnus still has both hands, b/c I totally forgot abt the claw, lol.

“And you’re. . . completely sure you  _ want  _ to do this?”

“I’ve  _ been  _ sure for some time now, Magnus.”  Wheeljack’s tone teetered on the edge between boredom and disrespectful irritation.  

Ultra Magnus’ optics narrowed, and for a brief moment, he fought the impulse to write Wheeljack up for. . .  indiscipline, recklessness, disrespect, any of the myriad things the Wrecker threw in his face nearly every day.  But he vented evenly and reminded himself what they were doing here in Magnus’ office, the doors securely shut. 

Ever since they had begun interfacing regularly, Wheeljack had confessed something to Ultra Magnus-- called it a  _ kink  _ and described it in terms Magnus wasn’t quite comfortable recalling, but his basic points had been that he wanted Ultra Magnus to become more dominant during their sessions, and to introduce something that Magnus had never thought of as relating to interface; pain.  Apparently, Wheeljack enjoyed mixing pleasure with punishment-- or found pleasure  _ from  _ punishment, Ultra Magnus wasn’t sure which.  But the idea of being more dominant was always lurking at the back of his processor, and so he had agreed to try it out.

They worked their way up, beginning with Magnus ordering Wheeljack to do things like keeping his servos on his helm for the duration of the session, or not making any noise until Ultra Magnus allowed him to.  Magnus enjoyed that particular bout more than he would care to admit.

Most recently, he had made his first real exploration into Wheeljack’s “kink”-- bending the Wrecker over Magnus’ knee and spanking the rounded curve of his aft and valve until the metal was warm and Wheeljack was begging to be taken.  Magnus had been all too happy to oblige-- simply listening to the Wrecker’s moans and eventual whimpers had done things to him that he hadn’t even known were possibilities.

So now, as Wheeljack stared up at him impatiently and waited for him to begin their next session, Ultra Magnus was not nervous.  But he  _ was  _ thorough, and so he paced back and forth, going down the list of necessary preparations.  He had received consent-- check. Now--

“Tell me the safeword,” he ordered.  Oh, the safeword. Such a wonderful addition to their game.  Simple, clear, unhindered by emotions or heat or arousal. One word, and the session ended.  One precise term, and both partners were obliged to obey. It was marvelous. 

“Predacon,” Wheeljack said, interrupting Magnus’ train of thought.  Briefly, the commander wondered if that was a punishable offense. “Are you ready  _ now?” _

“Are you ready now,  _ sir.” _

Wheeljack chuckled.  “Whoa, now, Magnus. I only  _ let  _ you dominate me.  Don’t get cocky.”

Ultra Magnus supposed he should have shock and rage flood through him at the sheer level of insolence-- and he did, a little, but he was eager to start, and he knew he could deal with Wheeljack in other ways.  “I’m ready to begin.”

“Thank Primus,” Wheeljack muttered.

Part of Magnus was tempted to keep delaying it if only to frustrate the Wrecker, but he had planned out his part too well to put it off any longer.  He stepped forward, dentae bared in a snarl, and grabbed the back of Wheeljack’s helm. “What do you have to say for your behavior recently, soldier?”

Wheeljack growled, his optics flashing defiantly.  “Only that I ain’t got anything to say, Mags.”

Ultra Magnus turned and slammed Wheeljack down onto his desk, pinning him down so that he lay bent over it.  Magnus leaned down and spoke into the Wrecker’s audio receptor, keeping him trapped with his other servo. “You have been nothing but insubordinate to me this past chord.  Do you know what that means?”

“What, I get a stern talking-to?” Wheeljack snarled, bucking under the commander’s grip and seemingly trying to fight him off.  Magnus froze, ready to remove his hands, before he remembered. Ah, yes, all part of the game.

“No,” he said, drawing out a pair of electro-cuffs from his subspace and securing Wheeljack’s wrists to the desk.  “You get punished.”

Wheeljack grunted, pulling against his restraints, but Ultra Magnus detected a flare of excitement and anticipation from his EM field.  Wheeljack wanted this. The knowledge made him confident enough to continue.

He retrieved the second piece he’d collected in preparation for today’s session from his subspace.  It was a long steel rod, flexible and round. He laid it against Wheeljack’s aft, listening to the Wrecker’s shivering vents.  

“You get ten strikes,” Ultra Magnus said, tapping the cane against the back of Wheeljack’s thighs for emphasis.  “You will count each and thank me.”

_ “Pit,  _ no!”

“You will say, ‘thank you, sir’.”

Wheeljack stiffened, real surprise bleeding out of his field.  “Oh, so  _ that’s  _ how you wanna play it,” he said, and Ultra Magnus got the sense that he was being entirely sincere.

“Am I understood, soldier?” he said sharply, rapping the rod a bit harder.  Before Wheeljack could answer, he added, “Obey, and I  _ might  _ let you have an overload tonight.”

There was a moment’s struggle against the cuffs from the Wrecker, as if he was determined to drag out the facade of rebellion, but his anticipation won over after a klik or so and he relaxed against the desk.  “Understood.”

“Very well.”  Without preamble, Magnus struck, the cane whistling as it sliced the air.  Wheeljack groaned and arched up. “One,” he muttered, after a pause. “Thank you. . .  _ sir.” _

Magnus flicked the cane again, hitting the lower half of Wheeljack’s aft.  The Wrecker’s gasped thanks were cut off by another, this crossing the line Magnus had left before.  As Wheeljack ground out another  _ thank you, sir,  _ Magnus allowed himself a small smile at hearing the words before striking again, twice this time, in quick succession.

“Ah- _ hahh!”  _ Wheeljack choked out, apparently unable to it in, bucking hard against the desk.  “Four-- five-- Tha-thank you.  _ Sir.” _

“Valve cover, open,” Magnus grunted.  The scream that he had torn from the Wrecker had sent prickles of charge throughout his systems.  He now had three urgent requests on his processor to release his spike, but he ignored them, knowing that the building charge was part of the game for him, too.

Wheeljack’s cover slid open, and he whined aloud as Magnus slid a digit around the edge of his valve.  “Hnn. . . C’mon, c’mon. . .”

Ultra Magnus stepped back, rubbing his hand on Wheeljack’s aft, feeling the lines of heat from where the cane had struck.  The Wrecker whimpered.

“You’ve done well, soldier,” Magnus said calmly, not betraying any of the arousal he felt as he began deliberately stroking the soaking folds of Wheeljack’s valve.  His spike, still restrained under his panel, throbbed with hot charge. “But we’re not done, are we?”

“N-no,” Wheeljack panted.

“No?”

“No,  _ sir.” _

The word struck deep inside Ultra Magnus.  He stifled a moan, turned down another request that pinged frantically on his HUD to open his panel, and struck again.

It was like music.  The rod whistling through the air, the ringing  _ clang  _ as it landed, Wheeljack’s groan, and the rasping of his voice as he managed, “Six.  Thank you, sir.”

Magnus dipped his hands down between the Wrecker’s legs, briefly stimulating his anterior node with two fingers before pulling away.  Wheeljack’s angry noise of protest transformed into a pained moan as Ultra Magnus whipped the cane again. This time, the rod had landed on his thighs, dangerously near his open valve.  Wheeljack writhed against the desk, making noises that went straight to Magnus’ interface panel. 

“I couldn’t hear you, soldier,” he said, dismissing the request to release his spike for what he promised himself would be the final time.

“Hahh- s-seven, seven,” Wheeljack ground out, venting hard.  His valve was dripping by now, liquid oozing down onto the desk.  “Thank-- you, sir.”

Ultra Magnus inspected the line the cane had marked on Wheeljack’s thighs, brushing it over with his fingers.  The stinging impact of the metal rod had peeled away the more delicate paint, leaving a reddish-gray impression.  Magnus smoothed his hand over the Wrecker’s aft, going down the curve as slowly as he could before stopping at his twitching valve.  He teased it, pushing two digits ever so slightly into the entrance. Wheeljack convulsed, grunting and trying to clench around Magnus’ finger.  Magnus withdrew and reached around to hold the digit to the Wrecker’s mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, and Wheeljack did.

As the wet glossa closed around his finger, Magnus gripped the cane with his other servo.  He reached over and laid it against Wheeljack’s aft, giving the Wrecker time to prepare, and swung, the cane landing with the most force he had given so far.

Wheeljack screamed around his finger, a pained cry that broke off into short staccato moans, his hips jerking against the desk.

Opening his spike panel, Ultra Magnus roughly took his hand from Wheeljack’s mouth and began to stroke the shaft, shuddering as he struggled to go slowly.  He heard Wheeljack groan “Eight. . .” and pulled himself back to reality with an effort. Yes, yes, two more to go.

“What was the rest of that?” he asked, crossing over to stand behind Wheeljack again.

“Thank you, sir. . .”

“Good.”  Two more.  Two more. He could do this.  He had to.

The next time the cane landed, it went off-- instead of hitting a straight line across Wheeljack’s thighs, as Magnus had intended, it struck diagonally-- putting the weight of the strike directly on the Wrecker’s exposed valve.  Wheeljack arched up against his restraints, choking out a cry between clenched dentae that transformed into short, static-filled sobs. Ultra Magnus hesitated, unsure if he had gone too far, but Wheeljack was already panting, “Nine, nine, Primus sir, nine, thank you,  _ Primus,  _ hurry up and frag me, thank you  _ sir--”  _ and Magnus could hold back no longer.  With a snarl torn from his vocalizer by the intense charge snapping inside him, he swung the cane one last time, heard it connect, dropped it as Wheeljack’s muffled cry filled the air-- and grabbed the Wrecker’s hips and entered him in one hard thrust.

Wheeljack sobbed aloud, his EM field bleeding too many emotions to comprehend, biting and licking and enveloping Magnus.  The commander didn’t bother to start off slow-- Wheeljack could not have been more ready for him if they had delayed this another joor.  He set a fast rhythm, each punishing thrust bringing him closer and closer to the overload he could practically taste ahead of him.

“Frag--  _ Primus--”  _ Wheeljack moaned, trying to thrust back onto Magnus’ spike.  “Yes, yeah, c’mon, yes,  _ yes--  _ give it to me--”

_ “Give it to me?”  _ Ultra Magnus growled.  As much as it screamed against everything that he wanted to be doing right now, he paused, his spike just outside Wheeljack’s valve.

“You fragger,” Wheeljack snarled.

_ “Give it to me?” _

There was a huff of hot air from the Wrecker’s vents, and an agonizing pause.  Magnus resisted against himself for as long as he could manage, and was rewarded, finally, with a desperate, “Give it to me,  _ sir.” _

Magnus growled and shoved into Wheeljack again, and the Wrecker’s keen of broken ecstasy shredded the air as he took the commander’s length--  _ beautiful, beautiful,  _ some part of Ultra Magnus’ processor fluttered as he kept thrusting into the convulsing valve as Wheeljack overloaded.  He could not have stopped now if he had wanted to. 

He climaxed with a cry, shuddering and seeing his vision flare white as his optics took the extra charge, tipping over with waves of pleasure that brought his systems to the breaking point.

When he came back to himself, he was slumped over Wheeljack, venting hard as his systems cycled down from his overload.  He grunted, pulled out of the wet warmth that was Wheeljack’s valve, and collapsed against the side of the desk. Above him, he heard the faint whine of the Wrecker’s systems rebooting, and saw his optics online again--  _ the overload must have knocked him into recharge,  _ he realized, feeling rather pleased.

Wheeljack chuckled, shifted against the desk, and called, “You wanna let me outta these, Magnus?”

Oh.  Yes. Ultra Magnus stood and deactivated the holding function on the cuffs, then helped Wheeljack up as they fell off.  The Wrecker stood awkwardly. “You gave my repair nanites a pit of a job to fix,” he said, raising an optic ridge at Magnus.

Magnus smiled.  In the peaceful existence of post-overload, he couldn’t bring himself to care much about Wheeljack’s tone.  He sat down by the desk again, gently tugging Wheeljack down with him.

“What, you wanna cuddle or something?” Wheeljack asked, smirking as he tried to find a comfortable way to sit.

Magnus pulled him onto his lap and answered, “Yes,” ignoring the Wrecker’s indignant noise.

After a moment, Wheeljack muttered, “Fine.”

They sat together for a few kliks, venting peacefully, and in Wheeljack’s case, allowing his repair nanites to begin healing the welts the rod had left.  Ultra Magnus ex-vented comfortably, feeling Wheeljack’s helm against his shoulder.

“That was excellent,” he said, because he lacked a better thing to say.

“Frag yeah,” Wheeljack murmured.

There was relaxed silence for a few more kliks,and Wheeljack added, “Sorry I didn’t use the safeword, I know you’re fascinated with that.”

“Hmph,” Magnus said amiably, knowing the Wrecker was being facetious.  “Next time.”

“You enjoyed it?”

Ultra Magnus shuttered his optics.  For once, he wished he felt as free to accentuate his opinions with expletives as Wheeljack did.  “Very much so.”

“Well, good.”  Wheeljack thunked his helm against Magnus’ shoulder.  “You wield a cane like a demon, Mags. Glad I snagged ya.”

“It is not  _ Mags,”  _ Ultra Magnus said, discovering that he could, indeed, be annoyed with Wheeljack post-overload.  “You may address me as Ultra Magnus or sir.”

Wheeljack chuckled.  “Okay.”

Magnus ex-vented, knowing that an expression of “okay” from Wheeljack did not count as a promise of future obedience.  

“That reminds me,” Wheeljack said, tapping Ultra Magnus’ leg with one digit.

“Hmm?” Magnus said distractedly.  He was not at all prepared for the complete sincerity in Wheeljack’s voice.

“Thank you, sir.”


End file.
